


She Always Was the Brightest Witch of Her Age

by Those_Interrupted



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bellamione - Freeform, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Dubious Consent, F/F, Primary Psychopath, Psychopath, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:56:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Those_Interrupted/pseuds/Those_Interrupted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Much as Bellatrix despises Mudbloods, she has to admit that little smart mouth Granger's caught her attention. When the girl winds up wandering into her territory with her little friends, Bellatrix can't help but relish in the destruction that she wrecks on the girl's mind, and when the time comes, she's not eager to let her new obsession go. Hermione finds herself the toy of a madwoman, and as her will is slowly destroyed, she finds that she no longer minds it as much as she should.<br/>Dubious Consent Bellamione. Psychopath!Bellatrix. Stockholm Syndrome!Hermione</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bellatrix's predatory smile can mean nothing good. Hermione has survived dragons and dementors, werewolves and Basilisks, resurrected Dark Lords and homicidal lockets, but it's having that smile focused on her that makes her wish for the first time that she had never received an invitation to Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As if sensing this, Bellatrix's smile grows wider.

"I'm going to have a conversation with this one… girl to girl!"

And just like that, Hermione is alone with Bellatrix. At first, she can't help but struggle. The dark witch has a vice's grip on her wrist, and images of being dragged away to be tortured until she forgets her parents as thoroughly as they have forgotten her makes Hermione want to sob with fear. However, somewhere far below, a dungeon door clangs shut, and she regains her senses. For Harry's sake, she can't die here. Fighting Bellatrix would surely be suicide; there's nothing that she can do but wait the mad witch's fury out. The older witch's smile suggests that she knows this, and Hermione almost loses all hope of surviving with her sanity intact right then and there. It's just a sword. Why does it mean so much Bellatrix?

Her distraction betrays her. Bellatrix shoves her roughly into a far corner of the room though, with Narcissa and Lucius's absence, there's no one left to witness whatever damage she might cause next. Perhaps the effect is simply meant to make Hermione feel isolated. If that's the aim, it's met. Bellatrix leans in closely to her young prey, and Hermione freezes, no longer brave enough to attempt to escape. Bellatrix smiles grimly, but her eyes shine with a strange light.

"Tell me, Mudblood. How did you get into my safe?"

"Your safe?" Hermione repeats dumbly. Then she feels the dark witch's wand against her neck, and she feels the flesh it's resting on begin to burn. Unable to bite down her scream, she channels it into the only answer she knows: "We… we didn’t! We didn’t!"

"Liar!" Bellatrix shrieks, and there's an undertone to her voice that Hermione can't place but isn't exactly pleased to hear.

"We didn't, I swear!" Hermione shuts her eyes tightly, trying to control her panic. Perhaps Bellatrix takes this as a sign that she's hiding the truth. Suddenly, her hand connects with Hermione's face, and Hermione stumbles to her knees. Distantly, it dawns on her that she should be thankful that her nose isn't broken. She hadn't been prepared for the blow to carry so much force.

Bellatrix snorts, probably at Hermione's weak tolerance for physical violence. With a sudden surge of self loathing, Hermione decides that she agrees with the sentiment. Why hadn't she listened to her father's advice and learned a martial art? A witch without a wand is nothing more than a dead weight, it appears. How could she ever have thought that she could do anything without a magical ability to fall back on? Her parents had known better, had begged her not to forget her origins. She'll have to listen to them better in the future. It can't be too late for her to learn. She can restore her parents' memories, and they can be a family again…

"Dear lord, are you _crying?_ " Bellatrix mutters so lowly that Hermione almost doesn't hear it. Somehow, the disgust in the woman's tone is still palpable, and Hermione flinches.

"And I'm supposed to believe that scum like you managed to break past Gringotts, hm?"

"We didn't break into anything!" Hermione insists wildly, fighting to clear her mind and calm herself. If she's going to die here, it should be with as much dignity as possible.

The older witch seems to disagree that she has any dignity left to lose. "We'll see about that."

Suddenly, Bellatrix lashes out, and Hermione is forced back to the ground. Before she can regain her bearings, Bellatrix is on top of her, straddling her, hands around her neck and squeezing. Hermione gasps for breath, but Bellatrix simply waits, face calmer than Hermione has ever seen it before. It's not until Hermione's vision becomes blurred at the edges that Bellatrix loosens her grip. For a few moments, she allows Hermione to gasp desperately for air. Then, she calmly states, "This is the last time that I'll ask. What all did you take from my vault?"

Hermione couldn't speak if she wanted to. She just shakes her head wordlessly, hoping against hope that she'll be believed.

To her surprise, Bellatrix sits up straighter, looking at her almost curiously. Whatever question she might have had, she seems to answer it, and a small smile ghosts her lips.

"I see. How, then, did you come across this sword?"

Caught off guard by the sudden mood whiplash and already more exhausted than she can handle, Hermione decides that it can't hurt to just tell the truth. "Dumbledore said—" Then she begins to cough, lungs spasming painfully. Bellatrix waits for her to recover and then prods her to continue. Somehow, Hermione manages to choke out, "Dumbledore said that the sword would come to aid anyone who needed it. Harry found it at the bottom of a lake, he said. He was half asleep when he went down there, but…"

Bellatrix reaches out and sweeps a strand of hair behind Hermione's ear, hand lingering against the girl's cheek. Her eyes seek out Hermione's and pierce through them. "And?"

Already dizzy but unable to look away, Hermione hears herself saying as if from a distance, "He dived down to retrieve it. He almost drowned, but Ron returned then… he had left us before because living in hiding was wearing on him, I suppose—it was wearing on all of us, really… but he came back, and he helped Harry bring the sword back to camp."

"I see," Bellatrix says thoughtfully, bringing her hand downward slightly, stroking the side of Hermione's neck with her thumb. "And for what did he need this sword, then? What would compel it to come to his aid?"

Words bubble up in Hermione's lips, but she bites them back and forces herself to clear her mind. No, Bellatrix can't be allowed to know this. She'll withstand torture if she has to, but she won't betray her friends.

But Bellatrix doesn't look angry, simply amused. "Come now, darling, you can tell me" she teases, voice surprisingly light and friendly. "It will be our little secret."

Hermione stares up at the witch above her, suspecting a trick but unsure of the new direction that it's approaching from. In response, Bellatrix chuckles, and her hand drifts lower, now rubbing circles at the end of Hermione's collar bone. The younger witch shivers, surprised by the many feelings arising within her. There's relief, of course, and hints of fear still keep her body alert and tense. But there's something more, now, something darker and more compelling coursing through the skin that Bellatrix touches. With a flash, its meaning hits Hermione, and horror shoots through her. Oh, no. Oh, no no no! She is _not_ lusting over a Death Eater, let alone the woman who killed Harry's godfather!

Again, Bellatrix seems to disagree. She'd been carefully watching as the younger witch's attention turned inward, and now she seems more than a little pleased about the conclusion reached. She brings the girl out of her reverie with a kiss. She seems pleased by Hermione's startled gasp—no, this was not what the girl expected. Doubtless, even if some part of the girl had wondered what it would feel like to kiss Bellatrix, she would never have imagined that such a kiss could be gentle, slow, sensuous. As Bellatrix trails downward, pausing to suck hard at the pulse on Hermione's neck, Hermione moans. Her body thrusts upward against Bellatrix's, and the woman smiles against her skin.

"Now," she purrs, pulling herself up to lick at the cusp of Hermione's ear, "what was this about Potter requiring the sword?"

Hermione shivers hard, eyes drifting shut. She's surprised by her sudden desire to answer and please the murderess above her. Of course, outweighing this desire is a growing horror. With a sudden burst of strength, she bucks against the older witch, trying to shove her off.

"Get away from me!" She means the words to be snarled, harsh and intimidating, and she hates herself for how breathy they come out.

"Oooh, feisty!" Bellatrix teases. "Goodness, you're fun to play with. It's a shame that you have such filthy, tainted blood."

"Get off!" Hermione shrieks, beginning her struggle anew. "Leave me alone!"

Bellatrix ignores her, easily pinning down her swinging arms. She leans over and kisses the side of Hermione's mouth, then, and when Hermione tries to bite her, she just laughs. Her mouth moves to Hermione's shoulder, and when she bites, she draws blood. She doesn't hesitate to lick it up, sucking at the wound as if to draw up more of supposedly tainted blood.

"Filthy little Mudblood whore," Bellatrix laughs, and, despite herself, Hermione hears another low moan slip past her lips. Bellatrix's eyes meet hers, then, and they're absolutely shining with delight.

"Oh, good _girl_ ," she whispers, and even prepared, Hermione can't stop the moan from escaping her. Nor can she stop herself from squirming as Bellatrix lightly strokes back her hair. Some part of her is still burning with shame, pleading to anyone who could listen to save her, but Hermione is finding it easier and easier to allow these new feelings to blot out that small voice. Oh, she's felt desire before. She's sure that she'll remember Victor Krum when she's old and grey, and she has to admit that even Ron has caught her attention, lately. But this is something entirely new to her, and she can't help but like it.

"Enjoying this, are you? Goodness. You _are_ pathetic, getting off on your own debasement. You're trapped under a Death Eater, my dear. Your friends would wish to murder you if they saw this."

A hand works its way under the top of Hermione's pants, fingers lightly dancing across the top of her thighs. Hermione gives up on trying to fight the feelings this provokes when one of the fingers dips momentarily to lightly stroke across her panties. Bellatrix smirks.

"I _suppose_ I can understand. Do you over work that massive brain of yours? Brightest witch of your age, are you? Mm, I suppose you're enjoying the chance to rest a bit? Stop thinking, stop planning, stop worrying, and just _feel_ for once? Those _friends_ of yours, my dear… do they use you as the brain of the Golden Trio? The little know-it-all come to save them from their own stupidity again and again? You need better acknowledgement than that, my dear. You need to be around people who can really appreciate your… talents."

Bellatrix hand dips down again and circles the new but growing damp spot on Hermione's underwear, and her words enter Hermione's mind through a thickening haze.

"Would you like me to steal you away from those filthy friends of yours, sweetie? I promise that I'd find a much better use for you than forcing you to trail after me all the time, always third rate, never appreciated or… _admired_ —as you should be. From what I've seen, you really are quite brilliant. Very talented, as well, simply wonderful. If I had you, I wouldn't give you up for the world."

Bellatrix pauses for a moment, and Hermione bites back a whine. The older woman smiles slightly, using her other hand to gently tip up Hermione's chin so that their eyes are again locked.

"There is one thing in the way still, however. Sweetie, I need you to tell me why Potter was allowed to find the sword."

"We had to destroy…" Hermione says before her mind can catch up with her mouth. She does catch herself, though, and she really is trying so very hard to censor herself.

"Please—" Bellatrix breathes, pauses, and smirks—"Hermione."

"The locket," Hermione blurts. Her breath catches in her throat, then, as Bellatrix rewards her with another kiss and a more substantial pressure with her slow, consistent circling.

"The locket, hm?" Bellatrix murmurs when she finally pulls back slightly. "And why would destroying such an inconsequential object be so important?"

"I can't tell you… please…"

"That's alright, Hermione. You don't have to tell me anything.

"You can show me, instead."

And who could blame Hermione for losing control of her thoughts?

Under Bellatrix's guidance, images flash to the front of Hermione's mind, and Bellatrix searches through them carefully. It's a strange sensation, Hermione finds, having Bellatrix roaming her thoughts. At times, it feels like the memories that she drags up to the front are distinctly _not_ war related. Hermione almost thinks that she can catch glimpses, here and there, of her childhood, of times with her friends, of fantasies and lonely nights that she herself had locked away and refused to look at again… but it's so hard to know for sure, after all, when Bellatrix is touching her like that. It's so much easier to just lay there, wide eyed and mentally open, not thinking and simply feeling. Isn't that, after all, why she's doing this? A break, that's all. She just needs a break.

Bellatrix might laugh, but she doesn't hear it.

She's falling, drowning in a sea of sensation, refusing to fight for air when she's so already so tired of trying to swim against the current…

And then she's abruptly forced back to her senses as Bellatrix rolls off of her and jumps lightly to her feet. Mind climbing back to its usual break need speed as she forces herself to a sitting position, Hermione notices that the other Malfoys have reentered the room, picks up on their postures, registers the presence of a goblin. Bellatrix interacts with the goblin, demanding to have the sword checked for authenticity and then calling said goblin a liar when he proclaims it to be a fraud, but she seems preoccupied. A moment later, Hermione discovers why. Harry and Ron are back from the dungeons, it seems.

Reality hitting her like a freight train, Hermione scrambles to her feet to rejoin her friends. Bellatrix shoots a calculating look her way before quickly turning her attention back to the male portion of the Golden Trio in time to stop them from taking her wand. A battle erupts after Harry gets a hold of Draco's wand instead. Hermione is looking for a way to help her friends when suddenly Bellatrix is holding her from behind, pressing a knife into her neck.

"I thought about using my wand for this," Bellatrix whispers, "but I thought you might appreciate this a bit more." Then, more loudly, she calls, "Stop! Drop your wands!"

The fighting stops, and Bellatrix smiles into Hermione's neck. Hermione hasn't the strength left to shudder. Her head is beginning to pound, the night's activities finally catching up to her now that the adrenaline of before is wearing off. Bellatrix is almost completely supporting her so that she doesn't collapse, and Hermione wonders what this looks like to Harry and Ron. Like she's been tortured to the point of exhaustion, most likely, and she can't find the energy to communicate otherwise. Besides, what exactly could she communicate? Nor is now the time for such communications, not with Bellatrix's next order still reverberating around the room like the cruelest of curses.

"Summon the Dark Lord."


	2. Chapter 2

Time slows to a stop. No one dares to move. Hermione can sense Bellatrix's disapproval, and she finds that she can understand it. Somehow or another, Voldemort will be summoned, and how much worse will be his wrath if he senses disloyalty in his followers? Hermione has half a mind to tell Draco to get on with it already. Perhaps it's Gryffindor foolishness disguised as bravery, but Hermione's tired of the cowardice of those who claim superiority. It's not as if the Malfoy family is what Voldemort will come to kill.

There's a sigh. To Hermione's surprise, it's Lucius, the biggest coward of them all, who reluctantly rolls up his sleeve to expose his arm and the mark that will forever mar it. Every eye tracks the movement of his wand as it's brought up to rest against the horrible skull, and his mouth opens. He breathes shallowly, as if preparing himself, and Hermione has the sudden urge to laugh at his fear. She bites it back and waits. This is taking a while, and something else is trying to claim her attention, a strange grinding noise that seems to be coming from somewhere above her.

Hermione barely has time to register the sight of Dobby on the Malfoys' chandelier before Bellatrix is yanking her backwards. They just barely escape being crushed, and Hermione is numbed by shock. If they hadn't noticed… if Bellatrix hadn't relinquished her grip until she could prevent Hermione's escape beside her… did Dobby not care that she could have died? Ron and Harry must, but with vision obstructed, they have no time to ensure her safety. Hermione can hear sounds of battle through the settling dust and plaster that choke her, and she presses back into Bellatrix without thinking, sure that without the support, she would be on her knees in defeat.

Then, somehow, she is on her knees, and she hears Bellatrix's threats above the chaos. She hears a curse, a scream, a crack—a house disapperating—another curse. Silence.

Three Malfoys and an ex-Black make their way around the chandelier and examine Hermione with varying degrees of sympathy. Hermione stops trying to meet their eyes when she realizes that Draco looks more frightened than she does. She has too much fear of her own to take on his, as well. Besides, she tries to remind herself, she has no need for any fear. Harry has escaped, Ron with him, and isn’t that all that matters? They still stand a chance. Harry is the Chosen One, not her. He'll manage, somehow. He must.

Lucius disagrees.

"I suppose that takes care of Mr. Potter," he drawls, almost managing to mask his own hesitance. "The Golden Trio relied on the help of this girl, did it not?" He raises his wand, and Hermione forces herself to meet his eyes to stare him down. Silently, she dares him to continue, to kill her. She wonders if she should verbally encourage this. Surely death would be better than…

"I caught her!" Bellatrix shrieks, grabbing Lucius's wand arm and forcing it down with a snarl. "I get to keep her!"

"Bellatrix!" Narcissa protests, a touch of horror creeping into her voice. "That's—" She gulps. "That's not your call to make. You'll require our Lord's permission."

Bellatrix makes a face at her sister and walks forwards to nudge Hermione with her foot.

"I'm sure he won't mind. Look at her, Cissy, she'd be so much fun to play with!" Bellatrix readies her own wand as if to curse Hermione, and Hermione and Narcissa tense.

"Not in front of my son!" Narcissa hisses. Then, louder, "The Dark Lord wouldn't approve of you spoiling her, Bella. If we're to get anything out of her, she needs to have enough mind left to talk."

Bellatrix lowers her arm, pouting. Then a feral grin alights on her face. "She'll have to sleep in the dungeon. Wonder what the ickle baby will find there?"

Narcissa glares at her sister before turning to Hermione. "Come on, get up."

Hermione manages to struggle halfway to her feet, and then Narcissa is gripping her arm and pulling her towards the stairs. They descend into near pitch black darkness, and for a moment, Hermione wonders what transpired to allow Harry and Ron to escape. The dank air smells of death. Then she's stumbling into a cell, and she's distracted by the pain that bursts to life as she collapses against the stone floor. For a moment, she senses Narcissa lingering the by the door. Then it clangs shut and locks. Hermione listens to the echoes of Narcissa leaving the dungeon, and only when she's alone does she pull herself into a corner and curl up to cry.

XXXXX

"Get up!"

Hermione squints against the harsh light leaking into her cell and then blinks hard to clear the fog from her head. When she again opens her eyes and focuses, she almost wishes that she hadn't. In front of her stands a big, rangy man with matted grey hairs and whiskers. He's leering at her in a way that makes Hermione's skin crawl, and though her back is already against the wall, she finds herself trying to back up even further. There's a glint in Greyback's eyes that stops her heart cold. How far away is the next full moon?

There's the sound of jangling keys and then of a lock clicking open. With magical barriers swinging away with the iron bars, there's nothing to stop the smell of dirt, sweat, and lust from assaulting Hermione's senses. She gags slightly, lowering her mouth to her knees and trying to make herself as small as possible. It won't save her. Greyback takes a heavy step forwards, movements slow and menacing, and Hermione wants to scream.

No, that's not right. What she wants to do is fight. She wants to stand up and face Greyback and _win._ She wants to escape and rejoin her friends, and she wants to bring down Lord Voldemort and all of his sick, demented followers. Will she still be able to hold onto those desires if he changes her? Will she even survive long enough to be changed, or will he simply maul her beyond all possible recognition and leave her to rot… or, worse, use her to break Harry's spirit? He's almost upon her now, and Hermione reverts to her original wish.

Greyback stops in front of her to fumble with his zipper, and Hermione desperately scans the cell for something that she can use against him. Are there wards against magic here? Could she steal his wand? If she can just get to the pants he just discarded, she might be able to stun him and flee. Is anyone guarding the door? She thinks that she sees someone approaching. They must have a wand of their own, and Hermione doubts that she could use Greyback's wand in a proper duel. And now, his giant hands are reaching down to grasp her neck and restrain her, and she doesn't know how she can fight him off to begin with, and the shadow by the door is just _watching,_ and…

"What do you think you're doing?"

The icy voice stops Greyback in his tracks. For a moment, hatred flashes across his face, but he masks it before he releases Hermione, turns, and nods his head in a rough approximation of a bow.

"Miss Lestrange."

Bellatrix doesn't acknowledge him. She just stares at the spot where he happens to be standing, coincidentally furious with the air around him as Greyback pulls back on his pants. When Greyback finishes, he straightens and shifts positions, and Bellatrix's eyes track him without ever losing their intensity. Greyback pales. He steps to the side, trying to edge around her to escape. Still watching him as a snake might a particularly lame mouse, Bellatrix leans casually back against the door, guarding it. Greyback's eyes dart around as if looking for a way out, but of course, only Harry could manage to leave a place such as this.

"She belongs to the Dark Lord," Bellatrix says lowly, eyes momentarily flickering over to where Hermione sits paralyzed. Bellatrix again captures Greyback in her stare before continuing. "She is not yours to touch. You will never lay a hand on her nor raise a wand against her. You will not appreciate the consequences if you do."

"Of course," Greyback agrees, nodding forcefully. A mockery of a smile settles on Bellatrix's lips, and she moves aside to let him pass. He leaves quickly, still feeling the weight of her scorn on his retreating back. Bellatrix waits until he's long gone before turning back to Hermione, and Hermione finds herself breathless. The intensity hasn't left Bellatrix, and it leaves Hermione feeling faint.

The smile on Bellatrix's face grows larger, crueler. "Come," she commands, and Hermione is across the cell before she has the chance to determine if she's yet capable of walking. Then Bellatrix is again gripping her wrist so tightly that Hermione's hand begins to go numb. Bellatrix yanks hard, and Hermione stumbles against the older witch's body. Her wrist is released, and the weight of Bellatrix's arm drapes across her shoulder, holding her close as she's forced to accompany the dark witch back upstairs. Hermione hasn't the strength to fight it. She feels that she should, that it would be wiser to dig in her heels and provoke this dangerously short-tempered woman than to face Voldemort, but she can't help but fear what might happen to her if Bellatrix isn't around to help her. She knows that Bellatrix is only keeping her in prime condition for her master, but Hermione feels sick when she thinks of what would have happened to her if Bellatrix had come just a minute later. What Greyback intended to do to her could become her daily life if no one argues for a quick death. She's never needed a sympathetic face this badly before. Oh, please, let Snape hold even the smallest drop of sympathy…

"This way," Bellatrix says, releasing Hermione and stopping by an ornate doorway. "The Dark Lord doesn't appreciate being made to wait."

The door opens, and Hermione follows Bellatrix into a room full of Voldemort's followers. They're crowded around a large table, and the sheer number of them turns Hermione's stomach to lead. Bellatrix ignores all of them, walking past them to kneel at a man's feet.

"My Lord," she murmurs. Reluctantly, Hermione turns to see the man that she's addressing, already knowing what she'll find.

At the head of the table sits Voldemort, and he's not happy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This sat unedited in my drafts for over a month. I am so sorry for the wait!
> 
> Content warning for this chapter: There's sexually explicit rape at the end of the chapter

"Where is the boy?"

Voldemort's icy tone penetrates through her, seeking to drag all of her secrets to light only to drain them of all light. Hermione is petrified, too afraid to shiver at the chill settling on her skin. She never knew what it was like to feel a monster inside her mind. She wants to shut him out, but she doesn't know how. She's not Harry. She's no one, nothing at all, and she can feel that now. No one here is anything more than a tool, a pawn, a passing amusement for this man, this deranged god of death. Beside her, the Malfoys sit like statues, eyes wide with panic but backs so impossibly straight that they must be pretending that keeping to formalities will save them. But Hermione can feel the weight of Voldemort's anger. If Harry isn't found soon, nothing will save any of them.

In front of Hermione, Bellatrix is pouting. The madness of the room doesn't hold a candle to her own, and she's unfazed.

"We had him, my Lord, but Pettigrew betrayed us. He allowed Potter to escape and was found dead in the cellar by his own hand."

Voldemort narrows his eyes, knowing that there must be more to the story.

"Why was Pettigrew in charge of guarding Potter?"

"Potter and his two little friends were brought to us, my Lord, but Potter had been hit by a stinging curse, and even his classmate couldn't recognize him. Of course we removed their wands and brought Potter and the Blood Traitor to the dungeons to be held until you could arrive. I remained with the Mudblood—" Bellatrix remains focused on Voldemort as she says this, but Hermione feels dozens of other eyes shift in her direction as Bellatrix continues—"in order to question her. The boys tried to rescue her before they left, and we tried to stop them. Our old house elf had turned against us, though, and he Apparated away with them."

A dark scowl crosses Bellatrix's face, and Hermione is relieved when some of the eyes shift to Lucius, blaming him for Dobby's defect to the Light. Then attention returns to her as Bellatrix suddenly smiles brightly and says, "I did keep the girl, though. Can I keep her?"

Voldemort almost looks amused, furious as he must still be. There's no warmth in his gaze when it turns on Hermione, however, and she feels as if she's drowning in her fear as he examines her.

"I suppose she might draw Potter to us," Voldemort drawls.

Hermione's blood turns cold. She's barely aware of herself as she claims, "The next time that you meet him, he'll destroy you!"

The room goes silent, and fury flashes across Voldemort's face. Hermione knows that she's crossed a line, and all of her Gryffindor bravery deserts her. She must be trembling like a leaf, but her fear alone isn't enough for the dark lord.

"What condition he finds you in is of no concern to me, _filth_. Do you think that Potter would appreciate finding his little friend a spent whore? I'm certain it would make his last hours far more… enlightening."

Voldemort draws his wand, eyes still locked on Hermione's, and Hermione's knees give way. Everyone is looking at her now, and she can only imagine the thoughts that must be going through the Death Eaters' minds. She's beginning to wish that Greyback had been allowed to have his way with her if only because she's sure that he would have carelessly murdered her in the process.

Then Bellatrix again speaks in her defense, loudly insisting, "Don't let them touch my toy!" A few of the men scoff, and Hermione senses that a few are glaring through their masks. No one speaks up. They don't dare risk angering Bellatrix, especially not if she has their lord's support. A sick smile has spread across Voldemort's face as he looks from Bellatrix to Hermione and back again.

"I suppose that you are the best at breaking them… Do try not to kill her."

"Of course! I prefer them alive and screaming." Bellatrix giggles.

"My Lord!" A new voice protests. Snape, Hermione realizes. Snape continues, "I believe that Bellatrix has already proven many times over her inability to restrain herself. Hermione should be kept as a taunt. She's no use to us if she's already a vegetable by the time that Potter reaches her. It would be far wiser to leave her mentally intact until Potter is there to witness her termination."

"Oh, you try to ruin all my fun! Don't be stupid. I'm not going to break her that quickly, not until little Potty's already been caught and killed. Besides, I _like_ this one." For a moment, Bellatrix turns to face Hermione, and the madness in the woman's eyes is striking. Then Voldemort speaks, Bellatrix turns away, and Hermione can again breathe.

"Snape, remember your place. Bellatrix, do as you wish. See if she has any information that could be of use to us."

"Of course. Thank you, my Lord." Bellatrix drops to her knees and kisses Voldemort's hand in elation, and Hermione tries to force herself to look at this arrangement as a good thing. She can't, and when the meeting adjourns, she almost considers throwing herself in front of Snape and begging him to just go ahead and kill her. However, she manages to get a hold of herself, and when Bellatrix calls to her (calling her "pet," of all things), Hermione obediently follows her out of the great hall. She tries not to let it bother her that Lucius's screams follow them, broken only by repeated cries of "Crucio!"

By the time that the screams fade, Hermione must be halfway across the manor. By now, she's no longer trailing after Bellatrix but has taken the lead, resolutely trying to pretend to herself that there's an innocent reason for her being here that has nothing to do with any of the Death Eaters and certainly nothing to do with Bellatrix Lestrange. She's doing rather admirably until Bellatrix suddenly releases a low chuckle. Hermione dares a glimpse back at the older witch and pauses, so startled that she forgets to keep walking. Bellatrix stares back in amusement, posture relaxed and secure, none of the madness of before visible. Hermione closes her eyes and shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts. Is Bellatrix bipolar, or is this truly what madness looks like?

Bellatrix laughs softly. "You seem perplexed. You're a smart girl, Hermione. Surely you can recognize an act when you see one."

Hermione's eyes fly open. "You! But—"

Bellatrix raises an eyebrow mockingly. "Me! But! Come now, darling. Surely you can see how madness has its uses? The Dark Lord is an arrogant man. He likes the idea of a blindly devoted madwoman by his side, a woman who's lost her mind for his cause and will do anything to please him. His followers? More frightened by the idea of a temperamental bitch than someone calculating and cold, someone who knows weaknesses they didn't realize that they had. The Light? Bah. To hell with them. If they like the madwoman act, so be it, but they're not my target audience."

Hermione gasps in shock. Bellatrix just shakes her head and gently pushes Hermione's shoulder. "Keep walking, dear."

Hermione stumbles up the stairs in a daze. It doesn't help her thoughts to become any clearer when Bellatrix's hand remains on her shoulder, squeezing with a gentle pressure and guiding her where the older woman wants her to go. She means to think things through rationally, to muddle out how many of Bellatrix's claims are true and how much is just the beginning of her head games. Instead, she blurts, "What do you want with me?"

Bellatrix eyes her curiously, and Hermione self-consciously expands, "I'm a… well, I'm muggle born, after all."

Bellatrix's mouth curls up into a smile. "Is that supposed to bother me?"

Again, Hermione is frozen with shock, and this time, with Bellatrix still easing her forwards, she almost falls on her face. Bellatrix eyes her doubtfully.

"Will I have to carry you?... Really, child, come on. There you go. I don't care about your blood, love."

"Then why…?"

"Hm? I already told you that the madness is an act. As long as my liege is the Dark Lord, it's only fitting that my chosen outlet be muggle-borns. It fits my blood, as well. It's what's expected of me. And besides… I won't lie, dear. There's a certain thrill inherent in having so much power as to destroy one's life and mind completely. It's only a shame that I have to limit myself, but… it is rather sweet to imagine that people are truly fooled, think that as long as they're purebloods, they're safe…" She laughs, but it's a sweeter laugh than Hermione expected. Hermione finds that she has to close her eyes again to fight off a building headache. She's weary and hungry and sore. Bellatrix's words make no sense to her.

"Tired?" Bellatrix guesses. Hermione doesn't answer, but she doesn't need to. She feels Bellatrix guide her to a room, and she desperately hopes that it will be a small room in which she can be alone. Even before she opens her eyes, she knows that that isn't the case.

She's in a large room occupied by a king sized bed, a side table, a large dresser, a vanity table with an ornate mirror on top, a large desk covered in notes and books, a book shelf, a huge closet. Everything is a deep burgundy or black. Not a single paper seems out of place. There's no hint to the room's owner other than the books on curses, poisons, and Pureblood history. Hermione's heart sinks to her feet. This must be Bellatrix's chamber. It's warmer than the dungeon, and it must be a good deal more comfortable, but the thought isn't as comforting as it could be. If Hermione has been brought here, there's only one thing that Bellatrix could want from her, and they both know it.

"Strip," Bellatrix commands, and much as Hermione loathes herself for it, she obeys. She's still unsure how honest Bellatrix was being, and either way, she has no intention of testing the dark witch's patience. With any luck, this will be done quickly. Hermione has no sexual experience in general, and she knows even less about lesbian sex, but she can't imagine that Bellatrix would care to draw this out.

The look in Bellatrix's eyes as she retrieves a set of handcuffs suggests otherwise. Hermione is directed to the bed, and Bellatrix loops the handcuffs around one of the bed's posters before restraining the younger witch. Bellatrix brings out a collar next, and Hermione flinches at the odd feeling of weight on her neck. She shivers as Bellatrix's fingers brush her shoulders, and her stomach is leaden with dread. For a moment, she and Bellatrix just stare at each other. Then a smile flickers across the older witch's face, and she slowly begins to remove her own clothing.

At first, Hermione is resolved to keep her eyes anywhere but on the spectacle in front of her. Closing them might anger Bellatrix, but Hermione doesn't see the harm in staring off into space near where the dark witch is standing. But Bellatrix is still staring at her with an intensity that keeps drawing Hermione back into its snare. As long as she remains focused on Bellatrix, she can't help but notice the care that the older witch is taking in removing her clothing, how lovely her pale skin looks as the heavy black bodice is removed from it. Hermione had expected scars; perhaps a potion has healed any remainders of Bellatrix's war crimes and time spent in Azkaban. Really, she looks far better than Hermione had expected. She's still thin to an unhealthy degree, and her lines are fierce and hint of danger, but Hermione can't help but notice how lovely she is. When Bellatrix moves to remove her bra and slowly step out of her panties, Hermione's mouth goes dry. In reply, the older witch licks her lips.

 _No,_ thinks Hermione desperately. _No, no, NO. What is wrong with me?_ But her eyelids still flutter when Bellatrix moves her hips slowly in a circle, and when Bellatrix begins walking towards her, Hermione can't quite manage to kill the small flutter of excitement. Bellatrix is on top of her now, running a finger slowly down the length of Hermione's body. Warmth follows her touch, an electric tingle more pleasant than any that Hermione could have imagined, but Hermione forces herself to shrink from it and glare. Then Bellatrix's hand reaches her thigh and rubs inward, and panic shoots through Hermione. It hits her like a muggle bullet that this is real, that Bellatrix has no plans of stopping, that _she's a virgin goddamnit_ and she does not want to lose her virginity here, not now, not to a deranged Death Eater!

"Stop!" Hermione screeches, voice more high pitched than she would have thought possible. She can't control herself. "Stop, please stop," she sobs. The image of her parents' faces flash again before her eyes, and another moan forces its way out. They would be so horrified to know that their only daughter is about to lose her virginity to a murderer. They would be so crestfallen to know that if she dies here, this will be the only sexual experience that she's ever had. She'll never have had the chance to go farther with a nice boyfriend—with Krum, with Ron, with _anyone_ —she'll never have settled down with a family. But she'd have had sex with a—no, she'd have been _raped_. Hermione gasps, tears landing in her open mouth and trickling down her throat. Bellatrix just stares, unimpressed.

"Be a good little girl, now, and don't make this any harder on yourself than it needs to be."

Hermione tries. Oh, she tries, she tries so hard to close her eyes and disappear. But then Bellatrix's finger stops circling and pushes _inside_ of her, and she can't stop herself. A scream tears unbidden from her mouth, and she begins thrashing wildly against her restraints, crying threatening to become hysterical.

"Please, please!" She barely knows what she's begging for, but it doesn't matter. A sharp pain shoots across her face, and then Bellatrix's hand is gripping Hermione's arm so tightly that the circulation cuts off almost immediately. Hermione's panic doesn't quell.

"Please, oh god, please," she whimpers. At first, Bellatrix ignores her and continues exploring with her fingers.  When Hermione continues to alternate between crying, begging, and screaming, Bellatrix grows agitated.

"Merlin, child. Will you be quiet for a minute, even?"

Hermione can't obey. Bellatrix becomes angry. She moves as if to strike Hermione again, and then she pauses. Suddenly her lips are crashing into the younger girl's, free hand tangling into Hermione's hair and forcing her to deepen the kiss. Hermione struggles but can't break loose. Even in her state of near-hysteria, she knows better than to bite the tongue that enters her mouth and runs along the edge of her teeth. It's only when she becomes light-headed from lack of air that she weakly renews her struggle.

Bellatrix pulls back slightly, allowing Hermione to breathe. Then Bellatrix's fingers shove forcefully into Hermione, and another scream tears from the girl's lips. Bellatrix smiles. When Hermione quiets, Bellatrix leans forward to kiss her again. Hermione's tears are silent, now, and Bellatrix licks them from her face. Her touch is almost gentle. Her fingers dance slow circles around Hermione's clit, and despite everything, Hermione feels slow warmth spreading within her. She's too tired to fight it.

"Slut." Bellatrix smirks. When that garners no response, she continues, "I guess that I'm not surprised. All Mudbloods are, really."

Hermione just lays there. Bellatrix pauses to stare at her curiously, wondering what remark she can make to cause the girl the most pain. Then a dark smile spreads over her face.

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing. I can't say that you're the best fuck that I've ever had, but you were pretty decent when you were still moving. I guess I'll have to thank Potter and Blood-Traitor when I see them next for the little gift they left me."

That stings.

"They didn't leave me for you! They tried to rescue me… I'm glad that they escaped! They know that it's more important to keep Harry safe."

"Oh, of course. They get Potter's safety, and I get you. It's a fair enough trade, don't you think?" Bellatrix's smile is viscous. She removes her hand from Hermione and shifts so that she's leaning beside the girl, watching her carefully. Almost purring, she adds, "I'm sure that anyone would have done the same. After all, what's the safety of one little Mudblood in comparison to the great Boy Who Lived? Really, what's the life of _anyone_ worth if it means saving the Golden Boy? Even if _Dumbledore_ was so quickly discarded…"

"You shut up!" Hermione roars, aiming a kick at the mocking Death Eater. When Bellatrix easily catches the offending leg and pulls Hermione off weight, the younger witch lets out a shriek. "Harry is. Not. Like that!" Thrashes interrupt her words, and that she can't seem to hurt Bellatrix only angers her further. "Harry is a better person than any one of you disgusting, horrible, sick… he's a better man than any Death Eater, far better than Voldemort could ever be. He saves people! He'll save all of us, you… you…"

"Oh? I see," Bellatrix answers calmly, catching and deflecting yet another of Hermione's blows. Furious, Hermione spits at her. In a flash, Bellatrix's wand is in her hand and resting between Hermione's thighs. Far from angry, Bellatrix smiles more broadly than before and winks. "Oh hun, you really shouldn't have done that."

Hermione has a moment to reflect on her mistake before Bellatrix is pushing the tip of the wand into her and whispering " _Crucio_ ," and her world becomes one of pain. Every nerve ending is on fire. Molten liquid is spreading through her veins, melting her senses into one endlessly burning inferno. Needles are sliding into her, harshly tearing through her skin. She can't think, can only feel. She feels like she's dying, or perhaps like she'd prefer to die.

And then it's over. There are tears streaming down her face though she wasn't aware of crying. Her throat feels raw. She moves slightly to relax her protesting muscles, and pain races across her as if she's being skinned alive. She doesn't dare to make any noise. Breathing is a struggle.

Bellatrix is still watching her carefully. Then, apparently having reached her conclusion, Bellatrix calmly resumes fucking her. Hermione would be torn between laughter and tears if she had a choice. Instead, she just tries to shut her mind off. She's half expecting Bellatrix to take offense to this, but the older witch seems to have already worked her aggression out. Her touch is soothing now, easing the burn, and Hermione suspects that she cast some sort of healing spell while Hermione was still too gone to notice it. It could have been rather recently, at that. Worn and spent, Hermione's not doing very well at remaining aware of her surroundings. If left alone, she might fall into an uneasy sleep, too tired to extract herself from the nightmares that she's sure will plague her.

Bellatrix refuses to leave her alone. She strokes a finger down Hermione's face, whispering, "Now isn't this nicer, pet?"

She moves so that she's resting beside Hermione, supporting her weight with one arm and using the other to move Hermione against her. Her mouth rests on Hermione's hair for a moment before she switches to stroking it gently. She doesn't react to the tears that are slowly trekking down Hermione's face, nor does she acknowledge how Hermione is suddenly shivering as if in shock. However, she does kiss the girl's neck when Hermione presses against her, the girl's eyes closed as if shutting out the world.

Hermione is exhausted, physically and emotionally weary. She's confused and in pain. She wants nothing more than to return to her friends, to return to living in the wilderness, never quite sure where their next meal is coming from and when they'll truly be able to rest. She wants to be anywhere but here. She can't remember the last time that she was this frightened.

But Bellatrix doesn't seem inclined to hurt her again, and eventually, Hermione's forced to relax. The pain has mostly faded, and now a heavy lethargy has settled over her limbs. Bellatrix is warm, and Hermione's lulled into a sleepy daze in her embrace. Half gone as she is, she almost feels protected. She knows that she'll hate herself tomorrow for taking comfort from the very woman who caused her so much pain, but at the moment, she can hold on no longer. Hermione allows herself to sleep, trusting that for the night, at least, she'll be safe.


End file.
